


Missing

by SilasSolarius



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, M/M, Mpreg, Reichenbach Reversal, Vulnerable Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:02:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilasSolarius/pseuds/SilasSolarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: 'Reichenbach Reversal' Fic. What if John was the one to fall and Sherlock was the one left behind to pick up the pieces. Can their marriage survive this or will their love fail them? Johnlock, Mpreg</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. IOU a fall

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an idea that I wrote out a while ago and just never got around to posting. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter One: IOU a Fall

 

"Doctor John Watson. The heart and soul of Sherlock Holmes."

 

John fought not to scowl at Moriarty's casual greeting as he stepped out onto the roof of St. Bart's hospital. The psychopath was facing away from him, watching the people milling in the streets below them with an indiscernible expression. Not for the first time, the former army doctor found himself wondering just what the hell he was doing.

 

He'd received the text earlier that morning on his way to and since then he'd been on edge, knowing exactly what would happen and dreading it. He could only hope and pray that everything went according to plan. Luckily, Sherlock was working a case for Lestrade and hadn't had a chance to pick up on his unease. Steeling his nerves, he allowed his heart to harden and the hate he felt for the man before him to flood his veins.

 

"Moriarty." He spat.

 

The consulting criminal chuckled darkly at the scorn in his voice and turned to him, dark eyes full of malicious amusement.

 

"Well here we are, Doctor." He purred. "Do you know why you're here? Why Sherlock isn't?"

 

John snorted, a thin trill of terror rocketing down his spine. "No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me." He sneered, and Moriarty grinned viciously.

 

"I owe you a fall." He sang softly, repeating the words he'd text the doctor that very morning. "You are here because you are going to help me burn a heart out of Sherlock Holmes. I promised I would and you're the perfect person to help me."

 

"And if I don't?"

 

Another chuckled left the criminal, deep and dangerous, an insane smirk curling his lips into a blood-chilling parody of a smile.

 

"He'll die."

 

John heart stopped cold in his chest. Of course, he had suspected this outcome however somehow, hearing it spoken out loud just made it all the more terrifying. Sherlock couldn't die. There was still so much good he could do. So many people that still needed him. Their son still needed him!

 

"N-no." He breathed and Moriarty nodded, voice taking on a sing-song lilt.

 

"He'll die. Lestrade will die. Mrs. Hudson. Harry. They'll all die unless…"

 

He hadn't mentioned Hamish, his and Sherlock's three month old son. Good, that meant he was as unaware of the child's existence as everyone else. After all, Moriarty was not someone that would keep an advantage like that to himself. That was good, their son was safe.

 

"Unless I jump. Finish the game."

 

"Four snipers. Four bullets. They all die if you don't. Your death is the only thing that will call off the killers."

 

John swallowed.

 

"Sherlock will be able to find them. Find you. If I die, he'll keep coming after you until he destroys you."

 

A bluff, a good one though. Sherlock was unpredictable at the best of times and John honestly had no idea how his death would affect his detective. All he knew was, it would be bad, very bad.

 

Moriarty bought it, but didn't seem concerned, his smirk widening into a largely disturbing smile.

 

"No he won't." He sang, pulling a gun from his coat. "You see, the game is over. Without me, Sherlock cannot win." He tilted his head, dark eyes glittering with unsurpassed madness. "And neither can you."

 

"Y-you're mad." John breathed, horrified and the criminal giggled.

 

"See you in hell, Johnny-Boy." He replied, before putting the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

 

The army doctor yelped and jerked away, his hands trembling as he stared at the warm corpse in horror. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out numbly, heart plummeting as he read the text displayed on the screen.

 

"Coming to Bart's to view the body of the latest victim, meet us in the lab. – SH

 

No! Sherlock wasn't supposed to come here! He couldn't do- he had to or his Sherlock, his heart would die. He had no other choice. Tears filled his eyes and he glanced at Moriarty's prone form before stepping onto the ledge of the roof and dialing Sherlock's number. Down below, he spotted his lanky detective climbing out of a cab with Lestrade. The curly-haired man stopped as his phone rang and John could just imagine the small furrow in his brow when he answered.

 

"What is it, John?"

 

"Sher-" His voice broke. "T-turn around, love."

 

"John, what th-"

 

"L-look up. I'm on the roof."

 

Confusion crossed his lover's pale features before he turned and looked up. Their eyes met and the younger man faltered back slightly in shock.

 

"J-John." He gasped and Lestrade followed his gaze eyes widening.

 

"I-I can't come down, so I'll have to do this from here."

 

Sherlock shook his head. "No, John. Get down from there. Get down! You're being an idiot!" He snapped, but the fear John could see in his eyes betrayed the harshness of his words and the doctor let out a broken chuckle.

 

"I owe you." He continued, as if the consulting detective hadn't spoken. "I owe you so much. After Afghanistan, I was broken, lost. You saved me. You gave me a purpose."

 

"Then why, John? Why now? Why?"

 

Sherlock whispered, his voice bordering on pleading. Tears streamed down his cheeks, staining the beautiful porcelain, aand it broke John's heart. In all the time he'd know him, he had never seen Sherlock look so devastated and the fact that it was his fault made it all worse. Damn Moriarty for doing this.

 

"Because it's too much! The nightmares. The memories! I can't do it anymore, Sherlock! I can't! I'm sorry."

 

"John, please. What…What about Hamish? What do you expect me to tell him?"

 

John felt his resolve weaken, but he forced himself to continue.

 

"Don't tell him how I died. I don't want him to know."

 

His lover stared up at him, eyes wet and lips trembling. Then he glared, his voice low and full of pain and anger.

 

"You're a liar, John Watson." He snarled at him. "Before we got married, I told you that caring was not an advantage! You promised to prove me wrong."

 

A sob ripped itself from John's throat, and he looked away.

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"Please, John. Get do-"

 

"I love you."

 

Sherlock shook his head frantically.

 

"John-"

 

"Goodbye, Sherlock."

 

Tossing the phone away, John took a deep breath…and stepped off the ledge.

 

"JOHN!" Sherlock shrieked, rushing forward as his husband hit the ground. Everything blurred around him, his entire focus narrowing in on the bloody corpse laying a few meters away. It all felt so surreal, as he were dreaming and sooner or later he'd wake up, John lying beside him sleeping soundly.

 

Hands grabbed him, trying to prevent him from getting closer to the body but he shook them off, falling his knees beside his husband's broken body.

 

"John, wake up! Wake up! Stop this!" He yelled at it, shaking him. He had to wake up! He wasn't dead. He wasn't!

 

Stronger hands grabbed him, forcing him to release John and he screamed and fought against it all, trying to explain to them that his husband was only sleeping. That he had to get him home to their son.

 

They couldn't take him away, why didn't they understand?

 

Black spots appeared in his vison and he frowned, reaching blindly for John's hand.

 

He found nothing but air.

 

John was gone…

 

Lestrade had known as soon as they'd arrived at Bart's that something was wrong, however this was not something he had expected. He watched solemnly as the coroner loaded his best friend's body onto a gurney and wheeled it away, thinking of everything he'd learned and seen throughout the day.

 

He'd been shocked to learn that John and Sherlock were married and had a kid together, especially given how abrasive the young detective was, and he certainly hadn't known that John was suicidal. It broke his heart to know that thanks to his ignorance he hadn't been able to prevent Sherlock from having to suffer from such a fate.

 

The DI glanced down at the unconscious man in his arms, noting the drying tear tracks on his face and the slackness of his feature caused by the sedation the paramedics had been forced to administer. He shivered remembering the way the consulting detective had screamed and struggled to get to John's body, begging them to just let him take his husband home. His heart wrenching pleas for john to wake up, so they could go home to their son.

 

He couldn't help but hope that somehow his young friend would recover from this. Unfortunately, he had a feeling that things would never be the same.

 

TBC…

 

 


	2. The Move

**Chapter Two: The Move**

_'Suicide of Internet Blogger, John Watson'_

_'Richard Brook is Moriarty'_

_'Moriarty found dead'_

Mycroft sighed sadly as he set down his newspaper, glancing at the hunched over form of his little brother, who was standing by his window, gazing blankly at the world below. He'd known something terrible had happened when Sherlock had shown up on his doorstep utterly broken, unable to manage anything but a soft whimper of John's name. As it stood, he'd sent Hamish away with Anthea, so that he could care for the other who hadn't moved from the window in his office since his arrival.

"Sherlock," He began and the detective turned to him, pain in his quicksilver eyes.

"Why? W-why did he do this, My?"

Mycroft's dark eyes softened and he let his mask of 'Ice Man' fall so he could embrace his trembling sibling. The man let out a low, broken keen, and started sobbing, clutching him tight. As he sobbed, Mycroft stroked his hair.

"I don't know, Shirley."

Wet mercury eyes met his dark chocolate ones before their owner gave a brittle smile.

"I'm six weeks pregnant, My. It was supposed to be a surprise, especially so soon after Hamish. We were gonna go out to lunch but he- he-"

Mycroft sighed sadly, pulling away from his brother.

"What are you gonna do?"

Sherlock sniffled and shrugged. "M-Moriarty is dead, so there is no reason for us to stay in England."

"Sherrinford is still in Japan." The elder man supplied and the vixen frowned. He and Sherrinford weren't as close as him and Mycroft but he knew his brother wouldn't turn him away.

"We'll need tickets. One for me and . Hamish is still young enough to board free."

Mycroft nodded. "Of course. And John's funeral?"

Sherlock shook his head, whimpering. "I c-can't."

"Anthea and I will take care of it."

"Thank you, My.  _Thank you_."

* * *

"You're leaving?"

Sherlock started at the sad voice behind him, whirling around from where he'd been packing his suitcase, having packed Hamish's bag as soon as he'd returned from Mycroft's. Mrs. Hudson was behind him, watching him with a sad frown on her weathered features.

"I'm sorry. I c-can't stay here without him."

She gave him a gentle smile, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"Oh Sherlock, I know that...but I can't be without my boys."

He nodded, smiling a tiny smile back. "Come with us. Hamish could always use his nana and I had Mycroft get you a ticket."

She hummed, contemplatively.

"Where?"

"Japan. My eldest brother lives there."

She smiled softly and kissed his cheek. "Alright, dear. Let me go pack."

* * *

Sherrinford Holmes frowned deeply as he waited for his brothers' flight to land.

Almost twenty years had passed since he'd spoken to his baby brother, Sherlock and even longer had passed since they'd last had a conversation that didn't devolve into an argument of some sort so when Mycroft had called him asking if Sherlock could come stay with him, he'd been hesitant to say yes. He'd asked for a reason but his brother had, in an uncharacteristically grim voice, told him to ask Sherlock.

Of course after years apart, he had no way to contact his baby brother so he'd been forced to resign himself to waiting to speak to the kid in person.

He sighed, tucking a lock of his shoulder-length auburn hair behind one ear as the desired plane landed. One by one the passengers exited the plane, and shock flooded him as he took in the small group of five that exited last.

Mycroft looked as he had when he'd come to visit during Christmas brunch the previous year, all stocky muscles and fine tailored three- piece suits, his ever loved umbrella at his side. Beside him was his beautiful assistant, who's name seemed to change every time they met. She wore a tight black dress and black heels, looking as if she'd just returned from a funeral. Behind the duo was a a petite middle aged woman with short dark hair, streaked with blond highlights, and kind dark eyes. Then Sherlock.

His youngest brother had changed immensely from the stick thin junkie he remembered. Tight, lean muscle corded his slender frame, his long dark curls laying in stylish disarray about his head and framing his sharp feminine face. He wore a tailored purple shirt made of silk, tucked into a pair of black slacks that hugged his long legs, and a charcoal colored belstaff with a dark blue scarf tucked around his neck. In his arms was a small three month old infant with a head of messy blond hair and icy blue eyes. The babe was swaddled in a warm blanket with the name 'Hamish Scott Watson' stitched on it in Sherlock's elegant scrawl. The child was wide awake, a tiny stuffed hedgehog clenched in his tiny arms.

"Sherrinford, It been a while." Mycroft greeted and he nodded, his eyes still locked on his baby brother.

"Indeed it has. Lockie-"

"Don't," Sherlock cut in sharply, quicksilver eyes flashing."Don't call me that."

He stared at the younger man wide-eyed, surprised when Mycroft and his assistant both sent the man a sympathetic look. A soft shuddering breath left the man. "I apologize. I don't like being called that." He murmured, clutching the child in his arms closer.

Interesting.

The last time he'd seen both of his brothers in the same room the two had been at odds and although a lot could change in twenty years he'd thought that they'd never be close again. Not after Sherlock addiction and the fall out they'd had when Mycroft had forced him into rehab.

What had changed?

"My apologies as well, Sher. I did not mean to offend."

Sherlock sent him a wan smile. "I know, Sheri. This is Mrs. Hudson"-He gestured to the petite middle aged woman, who smiled politely.

"Hello, dear."

"Nice meeting you, madam."

She giggled, placing a gentle hand on Sherlock's arm. The tall vixen leaned into her touch then gestured to the child.

"And this is my son, Hamish."

"Where is his mother?" The younger man stiffened, grief flashing through his eyes. pulled him into her arms, whispering in his ear while Mycroft sighed softly.

"That is actually part of the reason why Shirley is here, Sherrinford. He is in desperate need of a change in scenery."

Sherrinford nodded slowly, then glanced at his watch. "Very well, we should get going before my wife begins to worry."

The entourage shared a look, before Mycroft nodded and they began to follow the eldest Holmes.

Soon, Sherrinford thought sending them a narrow eyed look, he would figure out what exactly was going on.

But at the moment Sherlock needed him, and his brothers came first.

**TBC...**


	3. Of grief and talent

**Chapter Three: Of grief and talent**

"Sherlock."

The former consulting detective glanced up from the journal he'd been writing in to meet 's worried hazel gaze, curiosity bright in his pale eyes. Hamish lay in her arms, cooing and gurgling softly, his little limbs moving in tandem with his "words". He closed his journal and placed it down beside him, before taking the infant into his arms.

"Good morning, Hamish." He murmured and his son gave him a gummy smile, grabbing one of his long curls in his tiny hands and babbling a greeting back to him. He smiled and kissed the child's forehead, wishing, not for the first time, that his husband were still around to hear their son take his first steps towards speaking.

smiled at them. "Sherrinford wishes to see you in his study, Lockie." She relayed and the consulting detective frowned.

Since their arrival in Japan two weeks previous Sherrinford had been trying to deduce just what had happened to him and how he'd changed, often calling him to his office under the pretense of having tea or simple conversation. During the conversations, however, Sherlock could easily see just what his brother thought of him and he played to that image faithfully. Sherrinford seemed to be under the impression that Sherlock was still the same surly teenager that lived off of Mycroft and had no goals for the future, choosing to spend his time experimenting and deducing people instead. To keep to that image Sherlock told him small stories about his life, leaving out anything about his work as a consulting detective and John, knowing that due to the fact that his brother was so technologically removed from the world there was no way for him to discredit his stories. At the moment, however, all Sherlock wanted to do was spend time with his little Hamish, who seemed to be in agreement if his wide smile and happy gurgles were anything to go by. He had no desire to play games with his oldest brother.

He stood, his son cradled lovingly in his arms. " Tell him that I have no desire to speak to him, and that if he can be bothered to seek me out, I will be in the music room"

She nodded and kissed his cheek, then Hamish's. "Alright, Lockie." She replied. "But just this once, I'm not a messenger, dear."

He smirked. "Of course." He agreed and she giggled.

"Oh you! Run along dear, lest he come and fetch us both."

Smiling a small genuine smile that he reserved only for her, Hamish, and John, he nodded and left the room. She watched him go with a sympathetic smile, and picked up the journal he'd left behind, carefully.

The journal, a beautiful leather bound book with his name inscribed in the front in royal blue embroidery had been a gift from his husband as a way to write down his deductions of people he saw, without pissing them off. She'd often gone up to their flat to find him sitting in the doctor's arms rattling them off at the end of one of their outings and explaining in detail how he'd figured them out. After each one, the man would whisper how brilliant he was and Sherlock would light up like a thousand suns. Now, he used the journal to channel his grief and when she walked past his bedroom she often heard him speaking to it, as if it were John, talking about his day and Hamish. It broke her heart.

She let out a sad sigh. "I hope you know what you're doing, John. More so, I hope he forgives us." She whispered before turning and leaving the room to relay Sherlock's message to Sherrinford.

* * *

Sherlock sighed as he settled his sleeping son in his arms. The child had fallen asleep shortly after they'd arrived in the music room, soothed by the soft sound of his mother's voice as he hummed a lullaby. Now, without the child's sweet coos and active limbs to occupy him, his mind began to drift and wander. The door to John's room in his mind palace opened and the memories he'd been repressing as a way to keep his grief from overwhelming him flooded his mind. One in particular stood out.

Their first date.

_"Sherlock."_

_The consulting detective glanced up at the sound of his name, noting the extremely nervous form of his flatmate hovering in front of him. The man's hazel blue eyes moved around, gazing at anything but him, their owner shifted anxiously._

_How curious._

_In the months that had passed since their first case and since John had moved in with him, he'd only seen the doctor nervous around attractive females that he wished to pursue romantically. Never had the man been nervous around Sherlock himself._

_He frowned. "You're nervous." He stated and a startled chuckle left the blond before he spoke._

_"I- well I know you said you were married to your word but would- would you like to perhaps, go to dinner with me?"_

_The detective's frown deepened in confusion. "Of course, John. We always go to dinner together. Why would I go with anyone else."_

_John blushed. "No- I mean yes, I know that, but I was wondering if you like to go as- as my date."_

_Sherlock blushed as well, pleasantly surprised. He'd been harboring feelings for the older man for months now, however he'd hid them at John's constant insistence that he was straight as well as his own fear of rejection. After all, who'd want to date a freak?_

_"I- I- me?" He stammered in response. Yes, he was pleasantly surprised, but he was also surprised. John could have anyone he wanted, so why Sherlock? He knew he wasn't the ideal person to pursue a relationship with. He was too socially stunted, too freakish. So why?_

_The blogger's eyes softened, as if he could read his thoughts and gently caressed his face._

_"Of course, Sherlock. I'd want no one else. You, you give me a purpose live. To like living."_

_A smile unlike any other crossed the self-proclaimed sociopath's lips, pale eyes melting into a pool of mercurial silver and turquoise. "I'd love to."_

_Grinning, the elder male gestured for him to go get dressed before they left. Knowing that Sherlock wouldn't appreciate anything overly romantic, he took him to Angelo's. Angelo welcomed them and led them t the same table they'd sat at that night so long ago, smiling when neither man protested the candle he sat at the table. For hours they talked and ate, John learning a side of the detective most people rarely saw. He learned that the other's favorite color was purple, he loved dogs, reptiles, and bees, his favorite food was fettucini alfredo, and that he didn't accept payment for his cases simply because he didn't need to. Apparently, he owned several musical and medical businesses under the alias Eliot Harrow. He also learned that Sherlock had also studied medicine in school and that he had a doctorate in the subject, as well as a doctorate in chemistry, psychology, and music._

_Sherlock learned that John's family was mostly military, his parents having met in the military, his favorite color was silver, he loved hedgehogs, and that he was also musically inclined, having played guitar from grade school all the way through college._

_At the end of their date, they'd walked home talking and laughing about everything and nothing. John walked him to his bedroom, kissed him chastely, and wished him goodnight. It made him feel so normal, so wanted, and for the first time in years, Sherlock had fallen asleep with a smile on his lips._

A tear slid down his cheek, and he smiled sadly, his heart clenching in pain and swelling warmly simultaneously. Another memory took the place of the first. John's promise.

_"Why are you so quiet? Did I do something wrong?"_

_Sherlock frowned. Since that first date, they'd gone on no less than six others and he found himself falling harder for the doctor every single day. It was terrifying! To try to remedy the situation, he'd started to subtly withdraw from him, trying to make it easier on himself if John decided to leave him. It wasn't working._

_He looked up into the man's worried gaze and sighed guiltily._

_"You did not." He replied softly. "Love is a dangerous disadvantage yet I find my self falling. I have become subject to human error and I find that it terrifies me."_

_John chuckled and bent down to kiss him chastely. "Love is nothing to be afraid of, Lockie."_

_The detective stared at him apprehensively._

_"Prove me wrong."_

_"I promise."_

He whimpered softly, a broken sob leaving his lips. "You did, John. Gods you did." His pale eyes slid open and he looked down at his son. "But you also proved me right."

The words of a song he'd written the night after John's death entered his mind and he began to sing softly, pouring all of his grief, his love, his longing into the words.

_I will wander 'til the end of time, torn away from you_

* * *

Such sorrow.

He'd come to the music room searching for Sherlock after Mrs. Hudson had informed him that Sherlock wouldn't be joining him, intent on finding out why. However upon reaching the music room, Sherlock's voice had drifted through the door, and his heart had stilled in his chest.

Sherrinford had never heard such anguish in his baby brother's voice before. It sounded as if someone had take his heart from his chest and stomped on it. Who was he singing about?

_I pulled away to face the pain_

_I close my eyes and drift away_

_Over the fear_

_That I will never find a way_

_to heal my soul_

_And I_

_Will wander til the end of time_

_Torn away from you_

He opened the door slowly, and gaped at the sight before him. Tears streamed in steady cascades down his brother's cheeks as he swayed and rocked Hamish in his arms.

_My heart is broken_

_Sleep sweet my dark angel_

_Deliver us_

_From sorrow's hold_

_(over my heart)_

 

_I can't go on living this way_

_But I can't go back the way I came_

_Chained to the fear_

_That I will never find a way_

_To heal My soul_

_And I_

_Will wander til the end of time_

_Half alive without you_

Who? Who affected his brother this much? Who was it that his brother loved so much? Beside him, Mrs. Hudson gave a soft, choked sob. "Oh, Lockie." She whispered and he frowned.

She knew something.

So did Mycroft.

Something had happened, something that had nearly shattered his baby brother and he was the only one unaware of what it was. Sherlock wouldn't speak of it and neither would anyone else, especially if Lockie was present.

What? What was he missing?

_My heart is broken_

_Sweet sleep my dark angel_

_Deliver us_

 

_Change- open your eyes to light_

_I denied it for so long, oh so long_

_Say goodbye, goodbye_

There was acceptance in his voice. A sad, reluctant acceptance similar to that of when he'd finally acknowledged that Redbeard was dead, during their childhood.

Someone had died.

Someone Sherlock was close to.

Hamish's mother, maybe?

_My heart is broken_

_Release me_

_I can't hold on_

_Deliver us_

 

_My heart is broken_

_Sleep sweet, My dark angel_

_Deliver us_

 

_My heart is broken_

_Sweet sleep, My dark angel_

_Deliver us_

_From Sorrow's hold_

Sherlock tapered off into a quiet sobs and buried his face in Hamish's sleeping form, nuzzling the babe, who cooed as if to comfort him. Sherrinford swallowed then clapped softly and his brother spun around.

"S-Sherri." He greeted, voice hoarse, yet he didn't bother to try wiping the evidence of his tears from his face. Mrs. Hudson pushed past the auburn haired Holmes and rushed over to him with a sad smile.

"You've accepted it." She whispered and he nodded.

"I have to. I can't keep dwelling on it. I have to take care of Hamish." He replied and Sherrinford frowned.

"Accepted what?"

Sherlock shook his head. "One day, brother mine." He glanced down at his son. "Just because I have accepted it as fact does not mean I am ready to speak of it."

He nodded understandingly, and pulled his brother into a warm embrace. "I am here if you wish to talk." He offered, even though he knew the offer would probably never be taken. Neither Sherlock nor Mycroft were very good at expressing themselves to other people and preferred to vent their emotions when they were alone.

Sherlock nodded and he changed the subject. "Your voice is amazing. You should sing with Eileen's label. They are always looking for new talent and it would take your mind off of everything."

A thoughtful look crossed his baby brother's features and nodded in agreement.

"Yes, especially since you no longer wish to do the Work." She added and the eldest Holmes fought a frown. More secrets, more thing he was unaware of when it came to his youngest brother.

Slowly, the curly haired brunette nodded. "When can I start?"

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, however it was needed. Next chapter we check in on John. Tell me what you think.


	4. Never too late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is extremely short. Just warning ya.

**Chapter Four**

_**Three Months Post-Reichenbach** _

"He didn't come to your funeral. In fact, No one's heard from him since you 'died'."

John's heart jerked at Molly's words, fear clogging his throat. He hoped that meant that he had gone underground and not done anything stupid, especially taking into account their six month old son.

"And ?"

"I haven't spoken to her since we met the day after your Fall, but she wasn't at the funeral either."

Relief flooded the doctor. Good. That meant that they had to have gone underground because he knew for a fact that his Lockie would never do anything to hurt Mrs.H. The woman meant too much to him for him to even consider it.

"Okay." He replied, before glancing at his watch. They had two hours until they went after their mark and four until they left the country of Lithuania all together. He relayed this fact to Molly who nodded and turned on the radio. To his surprise, a smooth voice filtered through the speakers, one he knew oh so well. After all, only him, Hamish, and had ever heard Sherlock sing.

The words of the song were enlightening and his heart jolted when he realized that it was written for him.

_This world will never be_

_What I expected_

_And if there's something wrong_

_Who would've guessed it_

_I will not leave alone_

_Everything that I own_

_To make you feel like it's not too late_

_It's never too late_

Pain, laced the words mingling with the regret and grief of their owner and he knew that his lover was feeling very guilty about his 'death'.

_Even if I say "It'll be alright"_

_Still I hear you say- you want to end your life_

_Now and again we try_

_To just stay alive_

_Maybe we'll turn it all around_

_Cause it's not too late, It's never too late_

_No one will ever see_

_This side reflected_

_And if there's something wrong_

_Who would've guessed it_

_And I have left alone_

_Everything that I own_

_To make you feel like_

_Its not too late_

_It's never too late_

Images flashed in John's mind like a slideshow and he swallowed thickly. He was one of the only people Sherlock had ever allowed behind his mask and he had betrayed him. Damn Moriarty.

_Even if I say "It'll be alright"_

_Still I hear you say- you want to end your life_

_Now and again we try_

_To just stay alive_

_Maybe we'll turn it all around_

_Cause it's not too late_

_It's never too late_

_The world we knew_

_Won't come back_

_The time we've lost_

_Can't get back_

_\The life we~ had_

_Won't be ours again~_

John's heart clenched and guilt flooded his very being.

"I know. I'm sorry, Lockie. " He whispered inaudibly, wishing that somehow his lover could hear him. Yet, Sherlock continued to sing.

_This world will never be_

_What I expected_

_And if I don't belong..._

_Even if I say, "It'll be alright"_

_Still I hear you say- you want to end your life_

_Now and Again we try_

_To just stay alive_

_Maybe we'll turn it all around_

_Cause its not too late_

_(It's never too- never too late~)_

_It's not too late_

_It never too late_

Beside him, Molly sniffled, causing him to turn to her.

"That poor soul." She whimpered and he nodded, inwardly disgusted with himself for the grief he was causing his husband.

"I'm coming, Lockie. As soon as I can, I'm coming home."

**TBC...**

**Next Chapter: Mycroft finds out somethings...and he's not happy at all.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Shocking Discoveries**

_**Four Months Post Reichenbach** _

She found him sitting at the piano in the west wing of the house.

His hair fell in artful disarray around his face, his distended abdomen prominent even in the overly large shirt he wore.

The young detective had isolated himself to the west wing of the house, shortly after he started to show, trying his hardest to keep his growing pregnancy from his brother, who had started to grow impatient with being in the dark about what was wrong with his brother. Especially considering the physician Mycroft sent every two weeks or so.

The only thing keeping him from barging in and demanding to know was his brother's admittedly fragile emotional state, although music seemed to be helping him cope.

Mrs. Hudson smiled softly, watching as her surrogate son played a soft mournful melody of the piano, followed by something more bittersweet.

"Sherrinford is growing suspicious."

Sherlock nodded, slender fingers dancing across the keys with the same elegance they had with the strings of his beloved Stradivarius.

"He thinks I'm still on drugs. The only reason he hasn't outright accused me is because he has no proof. Sherri has always had the littlest of faith in me."

She sighed. "You can't hide here forever. Eventually you will have to face him and explain everything."

His fingers stilled on the piano and he nodded reluctantly, silver-and-sky eyes meeting her chocolate brown ones.

"Can you see if Sherri and his wife would like to come to my room and meet with me, tonight after dinner? I'm afraid I can't travel as far as I normally do."

Mrs. Hudson smiled and nodded, kissing him on the cheek gently. "You've made the right choice, Lockie."

He nodded uncertainly.

"I hope you're right."

* * *

John Watson was alive.

Shock flooded Mycroft's very being as he looked from the gathered information on his desk to cold face of his assistant. When Anthea had texted him, an hour previous to alert him to new developments in the investigation of John Watson's suicide, he had expected a note from the man, but this…this was more horrifying than anything he had imagined.

Together, they had sat and watched the CCTV footage from both the St. Bart's rooftop and the area around the hospital. They watched as John and Moriarty spoke, watched as the good doctor jumped from the rooftop and landed on a safety pillow hidden from view. Watched as he and his accomplices skillfully set the scene in under 30 seconds. Most of all, they watched as Sherlock screamed and cried, fighting to get to a man he knew, but didn't want to believe, was dead.

They watched as Sherlock broke.

Anthea, who had grown very fond of the youngest Holmes brother, was furious but Mycroft was beyond furious.

He was enraged.

How dare John Watson just waltz into his baby brother's life, allow him to open up to him, to fall in love, then go and break him in such a way. How dare he leave Sherlock pregnant and mourning, trying to figure out how to survive in the world that had taken his heart from him.

How dare Moriarty try to break Sherlock.

Damn John for succeeding where Moriarty failed.

His physician had told him that Sherlock was suffering from clinical depression, something Mycroft knew the younger genius had been struggling with since childhood. The man had prescribed him a few anti-depressants that would be safe for him to take during his pregnancy and they seemed to be working, however, the dark moods the younger Holmes sometimes slipped into hadn't been fully abated by them, if the reports he was receiving from Sherri were any indication. According to him, Sherlock had isolated himself from everyone but Hamish and Mrs. Hudson, who served as communication between him and everyone else.

He turned to his assistant. "Book a flight to Japan, Sherlock should be alerted of this." His gaze darkened and he glanced back at the screen showing John's betrayal.

"And find John Watson and Molly Hooper."

* * *

" _ **Why do you love me? I mean there are so many who would be better for you than I am."**_

_**John raised an eyebrow at his lover, wondering what had brought on this sudden bout of insecurity. It was something that endeared the genius to his heart and irked him at the same time because he could never figure out why Sherlock couldn't see how wonderful he was. Part of it, he knew, was a product of his childhood and uni, always being seen as an inferior being next to Mycroft. The rest, he assumed, was just him seeking proof of John's affection, something he was only too happy to give.** _

" _ **I don't want 'so many', Sher. I just want you. You're…amazing. You saved me and gave me a purpose before I could do something that I wouldn't live to regret."**_

_**A small smile crossed his love's lips, pale eyes dancing.** _

" _ **Sounds more like gratitude than love, John." He pointed out and John smirked, a spark of heat igniting in his belly.**_

" _ **Well, maybe I should show you just how gratuitous I am."**_

_**Sherlock blushed, but his eyes darkened with lust.** _

" _ **Yes, you should do that."**_

John sighed longingly, as he awakened with the taste of his husband lingering on his lips and that phantom feeling of warmth beside him.

He missed his family. His son, his husband, his in-laws, Mrs. Hudson, even Anthea. His heart ached worse and worse with every passing day, yearning from its other half and it was all he could do not to abandon his mission.

Tears welled in his eyes and he rolled over, pretending that the arms wrapping around him were his husband's, not his own.

He just wanted to go home.

* * *

Sherrinford Holmes was a very patient man, however as it stood, his patients with his two younger siblings had all but run out which led to his current situation.

Sherlock had been isolating himself in the west wing for months and he'd had enough! Grief was not enough reason for him to behave like a brat!

"Sherlock! Open this door, this instant!" He ordered knocking heavily.

Soft, almost inaudible footsteps sounded, followed by the click of the lock, then the door opened and Sherlock emerged, pouting sleepily.

"W-wha?" The eldest Holmes stammered, staring at his very pregnant brother.

The last thing he heard was Sherlock's startled cry as he fainted dead away.

**TBC…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Sherlock blinked as he stared down at the prone form of his eldest brother, pale eyes wide in disbelief.

Of all the reactions he had expected from the man, this wasn't one of them. Sherrinford was the coldest of his brothers, unflappable and nonchalant about everything even when he seemed to be the most open, the kindest. That his brother, had fainted at the sight of his pregnant belly was, well, baffling really.

A soft huff of annoyance left the youngest Holmes brother.

Of course he had to wait until Sherlock could no longer carry him to faint.

Idiot.

Even John hadn't fainted, and the man was a doctor…perhaps that was why he hadn't fainted. Doctors always saw some of the strangest ailments.

The sleuth shook his head at the thought and shook the older man awake.

"Sherlock? What hap-"Sherri stilled, wide keen eyes taking in his protruding abdomen in awe and disbelief.

"You're pregnant?"

"Five months gone." He confirmed and his brother cursed again.

"How could you hide something so serious?!" He yelled furiously and Sherlock snorted.

"Why wouldn't I? So you could take him from me? You always did believe the worst of me, Sherri. Even now, you've been thinking of a way to approach me about adopting Hamish."

Sherrinford scowled. "Well you haven't exactly had the best track record when it comes to making good decisions. It was only a precaution."

The younger man's eyes watered and he shook his head roughly, placing a protective hand on his bulging stomach.

"I've been nothing but a good parent to my son, Sherrinford. I've made mistakes, but I've grown just like you and just like Mycroft. You just weren't around to see it," He paused and turned away from his brother, "and if you continue on the way you are, you won't be around to see this either."

"Sherl-"

"I believe it would be best if I returned to London."

"Actually, that is the last thing you will be doing, Brother mine."

Both men turned at the new voice, so caught up in their argument that they had missed their brother's arrival.

Sherlock frowned at him, noting the rage carefully hidden in Mycroft's eyes and the way Anthea stood behind his brother, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"I believe we should take this conversation into the sitting room, Sherlock. The news I bare is not pleasant."

Sherrinford frowned.

Mycroft seemed almost reluctant to share whatever he had to say with their brother, almost as he knew it would upset the genius.

"Shall I call Mrs. Hudson?" He asked and Mycroft nodded.

"Yes, she should be here as well."

Sherlock's eyes widened, realization crossing his features.

"M-Mycroft, what's going on?" He whispered and the middle Holmes' features softened.

"Come, let's take a seat." He replied leading their youngest brother over to the sofa, Sherri followed them, curiously.

Once Mrs. Hudson entered, Mycroft closed the door and turned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, four months ago, John Watson committed suicide by jumping off of the roof of St. Bart's Hospital, am I correct?"

Sherlock paled. "You know you are, My. W-why are you asking me this?"

"Because as of five hours ago, that is a lie."

The detective shook his head. "No. _No,_ Mycroft. He wouldn't- John _wouldn't_ do that to me. To _Hamish_."

Mycroft sighed sadly and gestured to Anthea, who reluctantly passed the phone to the young man.

Taking the phone, he watched as his husband and a woman he considered his closest friend pulled off a hoax that had fooled even him. He watched and he felt something in him shatter.

"He lied." He whispered, clutching the phone tightly. "He _lied._ "

Mrs. Hudson placed a hand on his arm but Sherlock and Mycroft both saw the guilt in her eyes.

Sherlock jerked away from her. "You knew about this?" He said, betrayed and she nodded.

"John figured it out. He knew that Moriarty would go after something precious to you and since he didn't know about Hamish we assumed he would go after John or me. We set plans in place, just in case and then Moriarty text John that day and we had to set them in motion. I didn't know about Sherrinford, but it helped in our effort to keep you safe because Moriarty's men wouldn't have expected you to leave."

The sleuth stared at her, his entire expression guarded and cold. Then he stood and left the room.

Sherrinford frowned, looking between Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson, unsure of what was going on, but knowing Sherlock was hurting.

"Explain."

Mycroft gave a soft sigh.

"Sherlock is very prestigious in London and has, for the past seven years, been working as a consultant for Scotland yard. In that time, he has managed to catch the notice of many, including a criminal mastermind by the name of James Moriarty. He's obsessed with breaking Sherlock and is not above using any and everyone around him to do so."

"And you allow it?"

A very undignified snort left Anthea.

"Our brother and his husband both have a very unnatural obsession with danger. Their first day together ended with his husband shooting a man to keep Sherlock from playing into a perpetrator's game."

"Tell me about him."

"John Watson?"

Sherrinford nodded and Mycroft scowled.

"He is a former soldier, medically discharged from the RAMC. He's an adrenaline junkie and the best and worst thing to happen to our brother. He's alive for now but when I find him, he won't be for long."

The elder Holmes frowned. "You and Sherlock have grown closer." He observed and Mycroft smirked.

"Give him a chance, brother. Shirley has changed a lot from the boy he was."

The British Government stood, turning his gaze onto Mrs. Hudson.

" _You_ ," He growled, "You better hope this revelation does my brother no lasting harm or it will be your head."

She looked away, guilt visible in every line of her face and stood.

"I'll go check on Sherlock."

* * *

_**Don't know what's going on** _

_**Don't know what went wrong** _

_**Feels like a hundred years I** _

_**Still can't believe you're gone** _

He couldn't believe John was alive.

All these months he'd spent mourning and crying himself to sleep in the dark safety of his own room, dealing with emotions that he was already bad at dealing with. Emotions that left his chest tight and his arms itching for the familiar sting of a needle.

Worse was, , the one person he trusted the most, had known. She knew how bad he was at dealing with emotions and she still betrayed him.

It hurt.

_**So I'll stay up all night** _

_**With these bloodshot eyes** _

_**While these walls surround me** _

_**With the story of our life** _

A snarl crossed his lips and he decided to do what he was best at doing to himself.

Lie.

_**I feel so** _

_**Much better** _

_**Now that you're gone forever** _

_**I tell myself** _

_**That I don't miss you at all** _

_**I'm not lying** _

_**Denying** _

_**That I feel so much better** _

_**Now** _

_**That you're gone forever** _

He thought of all the good memories he had of his husband, now tainted by this betrayal and he felt so _angry._

How could he have believed him?

Even knowing the man had been coerced by Moriarty made him feel better, if anything it made it worse.

Didn't John trust him with his own safety?

With their son's safety?

He snorted and thought about how he would've handled this before John. Before Hamish and parenthood.

_**Now things are coming clear** _

_**And I don't need you here** _

_**And in this world around me** _

_**I'm glad you disappeared** _

_**So I'll stay out all night** _

_**Get drunk and fuck and fight** _

_**Until the morning comes I'll** _

_**Forget about our life** _

He thought back to Moriarty's threats and taunts and the way he had arrogantly waved them off.

He was such a fool.

Maybe this was his punishment.

_**I feel so** _

_**Much better** _

_**Now that you're gone forever** _

_**I tell myself** _

_**That I don't miss you at all** _

_**I'm not lying** _

_**Denying** _

_**That I feel so much better now** _

_**That you're gone forever** _

_**First time you screamed at me** _

_**I should've made you leave** _

_**I should've known it could be so much better** _

He was done.

Done with Moriarty and The Game. But he would continue to do The Work.

Maybe him and John would meet again one day, and while he understood what the man had done…he couldn't forgive him.

Not yet.

_**I hope you're listening** _

_**I hope I've made you see** _

_**That I'm gone forever** _

_**And now it's coming clear** _

_**That I don't need you here** _

_**And in this world around me** _

_**I'm glad you disappeared** _

_**I feel so** _

_**Much better** _

_**Now that you're gone forever** _

_**I tell myself** _

_**That I don't miss you at all** _

_**I'm not lying,** _

_**denying** _

_**that I feel so much better now** _

_**That you're gone forever** _

_**And now you're gone forever** _

_**And now you're gone forever** _

**TBC…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_**Eight Months Post-Reichenbach** _

Mycroft scowled darkly as he stared at the screen in front of him.

It had taken him three long, _long_ months to finally find John Watson and Molly Hooper but he'd finally done it. The two were currently trapped in Serbia, having been captured during one of their raids on Moriarty's compounds.

Goldfish.

Sherlock would've been better at this, but he would've killed his baby brother if he'd done what John Watson had.

"Anthea."

His beautiful assistant looked up from her blackberry with a raised eyebrow and he smirked darkly.

"Prepare a plane. We're going to Serbia."

She blinked. "Sir?"

His smirk widened. "I think it's time the goldfish returned to my dear brother."

She smiled, eyes flashing with malicious intent and if he hadn't had similar thoughts, he probably would've pitied John Watson. As it were, the man had hurt his brother and there was no forgiveness for that, regardless the reason.

"Of course, sir."

* * *

Sherlock had no idea what he was going to do.

Since the discovery of John's betrayal, he'd found himself drifting from day to day, his black moods becoming more frequent than he'd like to admit. The only lights in his life were his unborn child and his beautiful baby Hamish, who seemed to look more like his father each passing day.

Said child shifted in his arms, babbling softly and he smiled, nuzzling him gently.

"Mama."

He frowned.

Damn Sherrinford for teaching him that. Now, he couldn't get the toddler to stop calling him that and while he had borne both of his children he refused to be called mother. Or at least he had.

Damn Sherri.

"Papa, Little One. _Papa_." He implored and his son blinked up at him cutely,

"Mama."

He gave a reluctant smile, knowing the child wouldn't change his mind.

"I wish your father could see this." He murmured softly. "I know he's alive but…it still feels like he's dead."

"We didn't mean to hurt you."

Sherlock stiffened at Mrs. Hudson's voice, his heart clenching painfully in his chest.

John's betrayal had hurt, but hers…hers was far worse. She'd always been at his side, even when he's been high off his ass and ready to silence his mind permanently. She'd been there for the lowest points in his life, points that no one else, not John, not Mycroft, _no one_ knew of. He'd met her during college after ensuring her husband's execution on a school trip, and they had remained in contact.

He never expected something like this from her, and it hurt him to know that he probably should have.

A hesitant hand landed on his shoulder, its strength belying the age of it owner, but he refused to turn.

"We wanted to protect you, Lockie. He was after _you_."

"I know! Damnit, Martha, I know! I've known he was after me for years! Long before John came into the picture, and I would've been fine because that is his game!" He yelled and Hamish whimpered.

He forced himself to calm down, shushing the babe, as he did so.

"You hated me. You were thankful when I ensured Jason's execution, but you loved him even after everything he'd done. You hated that I'd led your husband to his death, but you're asking me to forgive you for allowing _my_ husband to chase his."

She frowned at him. "John isn't stupid."

"No, but neither is Moriarty. To him, John is expendable, he's in the way. Do you honestly think he'd care if John dies or not? He won't."

"And you're a better alternative. Sherlock, you're pregnant!"

"And alone. Because my husband doesn't trust me with my own safety let alone our children's." He gave a self-deprecating smile.

"I'm used to it." He turned to her, and her heart stilled in her chest as she saw his eyes.

They were dull, duller than she'd ever seen them, the barest twinkle lighting them for Hamish.

A sudden gasp left him, one hand flying to his protruding abdomen while the other tightened around his son. She quickly removed the child from his grasp, fretting over her surrogate son.

"Sherlock?"

"She's coming."

"She?"

"Martha!"

She flushed embarrassed. "Right, right. I'll get Sherri. Deep breathes, love."

He snarled wordlessly at her, fighting not to bare his teeth in fear of frightening his son, and she fled the room, Hamish in tow, crying out for Sherrinford all the while.

Sherlock grimaced and focused on calming his breathing, ignoring the steady pain in his heart that wished John was here to see this moment.

He would get his husband back, hopefully alive, and he would make him pay for agony he'd put him through.

He'd make him pay for every moment he spent mourning that their children would never know their father…

He'd make him pay for _everything._

Then, after all of the groveling and revenge was done, he would make sure the man never left his sight again.

* * *

He was so tired.

He hadn't slept in days, and he could bet that their captives hadn't allowed Molly to sleep either. They had been lucky enough to get capture by a cell of Moriarty's network with an abhorrence against hurting women, something he considered as a god send, even if he hadn't been extended the same courtesy. Still, their dislike for violence against women hadn't spared the pathologist from the sleep deprivation and starvation their captor's forced upon them. She was chained beside him, her arms chained in front of her and her long red hair matted with dirt.

It had been like this for what seemed like years, although realistically it had only been weeks, and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of a breakdown. One of their captives barked out an angry word as his eyes fell shut and he hissed when his head was jerked back, the sharp pain heightening his awareness.

Molly whimpered.

He glanced at her, yearning to comfort her but he had no idea what to say. They had been trained on what to do if captured by the enemy in the RAMC but he'd never actually been kidnapped by anyone other than Mycroft and that night at the pool with Moriarty.

He was as new to this as she was.

A door slamming dragged him from his thoughts and he glanced around, noting in alarm that all of their captors had left, barring one. The remaining man sat at a table not far from them, his cold dark eyes familiar in their scrutiny.

"I believe we need to talk, _John._ " Drawled a familiar voice and John blinked incredulously when his brother-in-law stood and easily unlocked his and Molly's chains. He'd known there was something off about the guard when he'd appeared on the roster only the day before but he'd never expected it to be Mycroft undercover. At the very least, he had expected Sherlock.

"Well," Mycroft snapped irritably. "Let's go, preferably before they come back.

John nodded and the trio took off down the corridor, Mycroft muttering irritably about goldfish the entire time they ran. Distantly, he heard their captors yelling after them but he ignored it, his heart pounding violently in his chest as he tried to focus on the fact that soon he would be back in London and more importantly, he would be reunited with Sherlock.

**TBC…**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

She was here.

Sherlock smiled tiredly at the sleeping infant in his arms, marveling at the tuft of dark curls on her tiny head, quiet snuffles leaving her every few seconds as she slept.

Willow Joanna Watson.

She was beautiful, and so worth the thirteen hours he'd spent in labor. He glanced up at Sherri, who was watching him with a small smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry." He blinked.

"Why?"

"All of my notions about you were based on the past. On the Sherlock that fought daily with Mycroft and hated me for allowing him to be thrown into rehab. They were based on someone that I've spent twenty years ignoring and I shouldn't have made them."

The detective sighed.

"You weren't wrong. I've been clean since I was twenty-three, and I've only relapsed once, however before John, before the Scotland yard…I was well on my way to relapsing again. Mrs. Hudson stopped me. She took care of me and gave me something to depend on since Mummy and Father are still hell bent on ignoring my existence. Mummy doesn't even know I was married."

Sherri shook his head and gently took his niece from his exhausted baby brother.

"I wish to there for you. To make up for the years we've missed."

Sherlock smiled, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Okay."

His body relaxed, breathing calming as he fell into a peaceful sleep. Sherrinford smiled at him, then down at Willow, who, to his shock was staring up at him with eerily familiar blue eyes. He was suddenly reminded of another infant he'd held in his arms over thirty years ago and something in him softened.

"I didn't do a very good job at protecting your mama," He began, stroking a gentle finger across the babe's soft cheek. "But I promise, I'll do better with you."

She yawned at his words and he snorted as her eyes fell closed.

She was definitely his brother's child.

* * *

"I hope you are proud of yourself, Dr. Watson."

John groaned softly as his brother-in-law's grating voice reached his ears, the man's tone colder than he'd ever heard it directed at him.

Pain wracked his body, radiating from his shoulders and back in particular, and he really was in no mood to deal with Mycroft's self-righteous bullshit at the moment. He just wanted to make sure Molly was okay then go home to his Lockie and their son.

"Molly?"

"She's fine. She suffered mild malnourishment, fatigue and dehydration. She also suffered a dislocated shoulder as a result from being bound but it seems your captor's were a bit kinder to her because it was set before I arrived."

The former soldier gave a quiet sigh of relief and he sat up to find Mycroft standing a few feet away from him, scowling.

"My-"

"No. I don't want to hear your excuses, John Watson. I want to know what exactly you were thinking when you decided to fake your death and go gallivanting across the globe with my little brother's closest friend. I want to know _why_ my brother showed up at my doorstep shattered, unable to say anything other than your name." Mycroft's gaze narrowed dangerously.

"Then you will drag your arse onto my jet and tell Sherlock in person. Am I understood?" He growled.

People had warned him that Mycroft Holmes could be a terrifying man, especially where Sherlock, and recently Hamish, were involved, but John had never seen it…until now. He'd never been as scared of Mycroft as he was in that moment. At that moment, Mycroft was every bit as powerful as Sherlock claimed he was, and John was sure that if he didn't follow the man's words to the letter he would probably vanish and be introduced to a fate he'd have no pleasure meeting. He swallowed thickly.

"Y-yes." He cleared his throat. "Yes, I understand."

"Good." Cold dark eyes bore into his own. "Start talking."

John shuddered and slowly, the entire story spilled out of him. He spoke of receiving the text from Moriarty, of figuring out that the man would probably go after him to get to Sherlock, and planning with Molly and Mrs. Hudson. He spoke of meeting Moriarty on the roof, of Moriarty's threats and consequent suicide, of the fall and his own actions in dismantling Moriarty's web. Finally, he spoke of his and Molly's capture leading up to Mycroft's rescue efforts. The entire time, his brother in law listened stone faced, sharp features giving away none of his thoughts and John's heart raced at the possibility that Mycroft wouldn't believe him. When he finished, Mycroft hummed softly and stepped forward.

"Your efforts to protect my brother and the lengths you'd go to, to protect him are as well. But John, Sherlock has been working with my intelligence teams to dismantle Moriarty's web since the man unveiled himself at the pool, he only stopped due to your unfortunate demise. When he stopped he was almost done so the cells you invaded were all that was left. This said we discovered your death was faked a few months ago. Sherlock was and is furious with you."

John paled. His husband rarely lost his temper but when he did it was spectacular. He'd never wanted that temper directed at him but he had a feeling that his actions had earned him a tongue lashing from hell and probably a future stay at either Lestrade's or Harry's.

"He knows?"

"Yes." Mycroft replied smirking and John swallowed. "Though he is not aware that you've been rescued, nor that you are in London. We will be leaving to visit him later tonight, once you wake up."

John frowned. "I'm awake now."

Mycroft's smirk took on a nasty edge. "No, you're not."

Before he could respond a fist struck him harshly across the face and everything went dark.

* * *

"Mycroft isn't here yet?" Sherlock asked as Sherrinford and Martha helped him get settled in his bed. Two days had passed since Willow's birth and he'd yet to see his older brother and his (not) wife, both of whom had been nearly as excited about the child's impending arrival as he was. It made no sense for them not to be there.

Sherri chuckled and straightened his pillows, kissing his forehead gently.

"He just text me, Little One. Something came up at work, but now that it's all settled they will be here later this evening."

Sherlock nodded, glancing over at the bassinet where Eileen was settling little Willow in then back at Sherri.

"I may be returning to London soon."

"Lockie,"

"No. I think…I'm ready to move past all of this. It's been long enough and I have work that needs doing. The world isn't going to sit still because I'm mourning a man that isn't dead. I don't plan to leave yet, but soon." He smirked, pale eyes teasing. "Plus the monotony of this place is becoming dull. I think it's time for a change."

Sherrinford chuckled. "You never did do well in quiet places."

He paused for a moment. "Keep in contact this time, Sher. I'm only just getting to know you."

"Of course."

They shared a small smile, before Sherrinford and the other left the room to let the newborn and her "mother" rest.

None knowing just who Mycroft was bringing when he arrived.

* * *

John gaped as Mycroft's driver pulled up to a beautiful Japanese mansion, ignoring the way Anthea was smirking beside him. He'd been a bit angry when Mycroft had informed him that Sherlock had taken their son and Mrs. Hudson and fled the country, even more so when he'd learned that it was to live with a brother he'd never know about. However, as Mycroft had explained the animosity between the youngest and eldest Holmes, he found himself horrified that his actions had driven his lover to seek comfort in someone he knew wouldn't give it to him.

It made him hate Moriarty just a little bit more.

The door opened drawing him from his thoughts and he followed as Mycroft helped Anthea out of the car, all the while grumbling about being late.

"Late for what?"

Mycroft smirked. "Sherlock isn't the only one in for a big surprise." He replied knocking twice on the door.

A tall red-haired man answered his eyes the same piercing silver-n-sky color of Sherlock's and just as keen as Mycroft's as they zeroed in on him immediately.

This must be Sherrinford Holmes.

John gulped as he saw recognition enter the man's eyes.

"John Watson?"

He nodded.

His last thought before everything went dark was, he really should've seen the large fist that followed that nod coming.

**TBC…**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Sherri frowned deeply as he stared at the unconscious form of his brother-in-law.

How was it that the man had captured and entrapped Sherlock's attentions so single-handedly, to the point that the genius had let down the walls around his heart. Walls that even he and Mycroft were hard-pressed to get passed, even though they were his family.

"He doesn't look like much, does he?" Anthea asked knowingly and the ginger nodded.

The man was so ordinary.

A goldfish.

But there had to be _something_ , something so extraordinary that Sherlock had been unable to pass it up.

The man was 6'0, with a stocky muscular build that belayed his history of sports, sandy blond hair streaked grey with stress, and, from what he'd seen before knocking him out, calm ocean blue eyes. It all made for a mildly attractive individual, but he doubted that Sherlock would be drawn in by aesthetics.

What was he missing?

"John Watson," He looked up as Mycroft's soft voice broke his observations. "John Watson, is so ordinary, so simple, that he is extraordinary. He sees the darkness in Sherlock, the way he struggles to interact in society, and not only does he accept it…he helps Sherlock accept it."

The puppet master paused, glaring at the unconscious soldier on the couch.

"He has more power over Sherlock than either of them are aware of. Had he truly been dead, Sherlock would have never recovered. I am entirely unsure of how Sherlock will take his return, but need must."

Sherri nodded, then smiled.

"I'd be more worried about Dr. Watson."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Sherlock gave birth a few days ago. Willow Joanna Watson."

A rare smile crossed the younger man's lips and Anthea chuckled.

"He always has perfect timing."

Sherri raised an eyebrow

"Hamish was born on his parents' two-year anniversary."

He chuckled, turning his gaze back to his brother-in-law as the man began to stir.

"Welcome to my home, Dr. Watson." He greeted and the blonde's eyes fluttered open, darkening as they met his amused gaze.

"Welcome isn't quite the word for it, Holmes."

Sherrinford snorted, glaring at him.

"You broke my baby brother's heart."

"To save his life! I love Sherlock and Hamish more than anyone in the world. He saved my life, stopped me from giving up after I was invalidated home and I did the same for him. Had I not done what I'd done, Moriarty would've killed him and Hamish needed his _mother_ a lot more than he needed me!"

Mycroft placed a hand on the riled man's shoulder.

"John, you know Sherlock better than anyone, myself included. Have you any doubt that my brother would have followed you to your death?"

John shuddered. "B-But Hamish…"

"Sherlock loves his son but make no mistake, John. Had you truly been dead, he wouldn't have been far behind."

Closing his eyes, as if pained, he looked over at Sherrinford.

"Where is he?"

The auburn haired man stood and gestured for them to follow him.

"He is resting. He had a long day."

John stiffened. "Is he alright?"

Sherrinford nodded. "He's perfectly fine. Merely exhausted."

The blonde relaxed slightly, swallowing thickly as they stopped outside of his precious detective's bedroom door.

How would Sherlock react to his return?

Would he be angry, his pale silver-n-sky eyes flashing as they were wont to do? Or would he be sad, eyes full of tears that he would fight not to let John see? Or would it be the worst reaction? Would the walls John had fought so hard to get behind come flying back up, leaving the gaze he loved so much cold and guarded against the rest of the world? Whatever the case, John could only hope that Sherlock would take him back after this.

Mycroft placed a calming hand on his shoulder, but offered no other comfort, raising his free hand to knock on the door.

For a moment, there was no response, then John heard the soft, sluggish footsteps that bespoke of a sleepy Sherlock and had to hide a smile.

His husband was adorable when he was tired, no matter how much he denied it.

The handle of the door clicked and his love appeared, long curls wild and messy, eyes partially glazed in sleep and pale skin flushed.

He'd never seen someone so beautiful.

"Lockie," He breathed and those all-seeing eyes sharped, zeroing in on him with a sudden intensity one couldn't expect from anyone other than the detective.

Sherlock's expression blanked for a second and John's heart leapt in his throat when it seemed that the walls were coming back up…then the ice in his husband's features melted and a warm smile crossed his thin lips.

"I'd punch you if Sher, already hadn't."

"I know."

"Faking your death was incredibly stupid."

"I know."

"You're gonna be groveling for a long time…and I'm putting the heads back in the fridge."

Sherrinford blinked while John gave an eyeroll.

"Sure."

"And the eyes back in the microwave."

"Lockie,"

"You keep eyes in your…microwave?" Mycroft shook his head at his elder brother.

"Indeed. And don't even ask what he keeps in the tea cans."

John smirked and pulled his husband into his arms, happy to feel the familiar warmth he'd missed so much.

Sherlock leaned into him and chuckled. He frowned.

"What?"

"I had a very specific purpose for coming to Bart's all those months ago."

His frown deepened and he eyed his lover worriedly.

"Lock?"

The younger man smiled and pulled away from him, gesturing for them to follow him into the room. The others followed, the two eldest smirking as they anticipated the good doctor's reaction to their brother's surprise.

Sherlock ignored them, pressing a gentle kiss to a sleeping Hamish's head as he passed the bed to head to a dark blue bassinet a few feet away from it.

"You're very active aren't you, love?" He crooned, lifting the sleeping child within and carrying her over to her father and uncles.

"My, John, I'd like you both to meet Willow Joanna Watson."

John's eyes widened, filling with tears as his daughter -a daughter!- was placed in his arms. She looked up at him with his husband's keen eyes, then gave a soft coo.

His heart melted and warmth filled him as he looked around at his family.

He was home.

**TBC…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So sorry for the wait guys. I had surgery a few weeks ago so I've been recovering from that as well as being swamped with homework and work. Hopefully, there won't be such a long wait between this one and the epilogue.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like how this ended but my brain refused to give me anything else...

**Epilogue**

"Don't forget to call."

"I won't…John don't forget to call Sherri."

Sherrinford smiled slightly at his baby brother's words, sharing a commiserating look with the genius' husband. In the month since John's 'miraculous' return, he'd been able to finally get to know _Sherlock_ , not the grief ridden shell he'd been caring for.

He'd met the nurturing side of the genius, the cold analytical side and even the acerbic consultant that reminded him strongly of teenaged Sherlock. Their relationship had grown in strength and for the first time since Sherlock was a small child, he was proud of his brother.

Sherlock had grown up, and he'd done very well for himself, even promising to continue his music with Eileen's label despite living in London.

He'd even gotten to know John. The soldier was the calm to his brother's mania but he was also the fuel for it. Sherlock bounced ideas off the man who parroted them back but with his own suggestions…he made Sherlock smile.

He'd miss them when they were gone.

His gaze slid toward Mrs. Hudson who was cooing quietly at Willow.

He wasn't sure about Sherlock's decision to forgive the woman, but he understood her reasoning. She was protecting her boys the best way she could. What were feelings when lives were on the line?

It was only this that kept him from protesting when Sherlock revealed that they were going to be living in the building she owned in London.

Lean arms wrapped around his waist starting him and he glanced down to find his wife staring up at him with a soft smile.

"They'll be fine, Sherri."

"I know." He responded watching the family enter the plane. Sherlock glanced back at him and gave a small smile full of gratitude before the stairway closed and it began to take off.

A small smirk crossed his lips and he turned to leave.

Somehow he doubted that London was prepared for the return of the youngest Holmes.

* * *

Lestrade sighed heavily as he read through another case file, trying to keep his mind from wandering to its favorite subject nowadays.

Sherlock.

They young consulting detective had disappeared shortly after John had…died and no one had seen hide nor hair of him since. Had it not been for the disappearance of his land lady, he would've thought the kid was dead or worse. Even now he could hear the haunting cry that had left the younger man's lips, could see his best friend fall.

" _JOHN!"_

Never had he heard Sherlock, a self-proclaimed sociopath, sound so broken, so pleading.

He would rather face the man's more acerbic side.

Anything but the broken shell that had left the hospital that night, pale eyes lifeless.

A door slammed somewhere outside of his office and he jolted from his thoughts, raising an eyebrow when he heard a soft murmur spreading through the office.

"You can't go in there." Sally protested but it sounded weak even to his ears.

"I need a case. I've been in London for almost 36 hours and I'm bored."

Lestrade's heart leapt into his throat.

Sherlock.

"Freak-"

"Ms. Donovan, will we need to talk about that word again?"

John?!

His heart stopped.

What the hell was going on?

He heard Sally let out a frustrated noise and the door to his office flew open. Sherlock stormed in first, looking healthier than Lestrade had ever seen him. His curls were long and full, pulled back into a tail at the nape of his neck until they fell mid-shoulder, his skin a healthy ivory color, and his eyes…his eyes were sharp, blazing with the fire he was so well known for.

He looked nothing like the broken man that had vanished.

After him came John. The former soldier looked a lot less dead, his skin a healthy tanned color. His hair was darker and longer, the messy blond locks falling to the tops of his ears.

All in all, the couple looked better than they had when he'd seen them last and while he was relieved, he was also confused.

He decided to address the most important question first.

"John, you're alive?"

His best friend scratched his head sheepishly, glancing at his husband.

"Yes. Molly and Mrs. Hudson helped me fake my death after we realized that Moriarty would come after me to get to Sherlock."

Lestrade blinked and scowled at his friend. "I would punch you if I wasn't sure Sherlock would hurt me."

"I'm still on groveling duty." The blonde offered and Sherlock smirked.

"So is Molly."

"And Mrs. Hudson."

The DI shook his head and looked at Sherlock. Looking at him he couldn't see the teen that drugged himself because his thoughts were too fast, he didn't see a freak, or a broken doll, he saw a young man who had survived despite the odds. A man who was comfortable in his own skin and it made him proud.

He glanced down at the case file in front of him and knew that now everything would get back to normal, or as normal as things got for them.

Still…

"When do I get to meet Hamish?"

John grinned proudly.

"Soon."

"After all you are his godfather, George."

"And Willow's."

Lestrade blinked. "Greg." He injected before the couple's words caught up to him.

"Really? Who's Willow?"

The matching smiles on the couple's lips tole him everything and he cursed.

Damnit.

You can't just name someone a godfather and not tell them…then again it was Sherlock…

* * *

**(1 year later)**

Sherlock hummed softly as he rocked one-year-old Willow to sleep, his own mind racing.

He still worked as a consulting detective for the yard but Lestrade kept an eye on him if John wasn't there. John had gotten a new job working as a trauma surgeon at Barts and he loved it if the satisfied expression he wore when he came in from work meant anything. He'd even kept in contact with his eldest brother and his wife, the latter of whom managed his music career through video calls and once a month visits. His life seemed to finally be in order, or as well ordered as it could be and he couldn't help but thank Moriarty.

The consulting criminal had sought to tear him apart but instead he'd made him stronger, more complete…even if his nightmare still consisted of watching John fall.

His laptop dinged, drawing him from his thoughts and he smiled when another chime sounded shortly afterwards.

A case.

He glanced up at the clock about the fireplace and his smile widened.

John was due home in half an hour and by then the children would be asleep.

The Game was on.

**Fin?**


End file.
